The One: A Next Generation Story
by SarahCoury
Summary: What happens when Scott Tracy decides to leave the rescues to the next generations? Who will get Thunderbird One? Exactly what is going on with Uncle Gordon?
1. Chapter 1

"I'm retiring."

These are the words that ruin everything.

When Dad stands in front of the first official Tracy Family Meeting and says those words, all but two jaws drop to the floor.

Uncle John had known, of course. He knows everything and on top of that, Dad wouldn't have made the call without him. It's Aunt Kay who surprises everyone, although, it probably shouldn't. Dad and Kayo are close. He respects her and even if he didn't, Aunt Kay has ways of finding things out.

The rest of the Uncles don't look as surprised as they should, which makes me think they probably saw it coming. Dad's been joking about retiring for years now. I think, more than anything, they're just surprised that he's actually following through with it.

It's the kids - _we're_ the ones who take the hardest blow. Dad? Uncle Scott? _Retiring_? No way. International Rescue is in his blood. He's hardwired to fly a Thunderbird. Next to me, Jeff looks over his shoulder for the hidden cameras. This has got to be some sort of practical joke.

But when Dad goes on, we all know that it's not. "I'm getting older," he tells us, and he looks right at me when he says it. "It's not safe for anyone if I keep going on rescues."

If he expects anyone to say anything in return, he's disappointed. We're silent - no. Speechless. Over Dad's shoulder, Uncle John doesn't look like he much minds the quiet, but Dad... well, Dad's always been the sort of person to prefer a nice cacophonous afternoon. He clears his throat and goes on. "I'm not leaving International Rescue," he clarifies. "But I'll be helping John with dispatch. Our crew's gotten a little bigger over the years, so while he's up in the sky, I'll be down here."

Almost involuntarily, my eyes shift to _the_ desk, but I tear them right back to the family meeting.

When I look back up at Dad, I know he's seen me and I swear he gives me the slightest nod. No one's ever sat at that desk. No one's ever used it. It's just there, occupied by a ghost, and now Dad's going to pull up a seat.

Maybe he's about to say so, but next to me, Jeff shoots up, always ready with a question. He's just like Uncle Alan that way, so at this point, Dad almost _expects_ for his nephew to interrupt. "Who's going to be flying Thunderbird One, then?"

I retract my previous statement. _These_ are the words that ruin everything.

Because when Jeff says this, all five Tracy kids sit up a little taller. They lean in a little closer, each of us hanging on my father's every word.

He notices, and then he smirks. "Yes," he says, drawing the word out, torturing us with every second he's got. "There _will_ be an opening, thank you, Jeff." But Dad doesn't sound very thankful at all. "I haven't decided who's going to fill it yet."

And that's when my own words fall out of my mouth. "Wait," I say. "So if you're leaving and none of us are taking over, does that mean One's going to be out of commission?"

No. That can't be right. How is anyone going to run a rescue without One backing them up? Sure, Two's a beast, and Three, Four, Five are good for their jobs, but One... One is _the_ Thunderbird.

But Dad just nods, like its the most normal thing in the world. "It needs a little rest before a new generation takes the keys. Brains is going to give it a few upgrades - clean it up a bit."

Next to me, Jeff is practically salivating. Not just Thunderbird One, but a _new and improved_ Thunderbird One. On the other side of him, the twins just look up at their dad with that sense of pride they've had since before I was even born.

Overall, the whole room's excited. It's that energy that comes with change - nervous, but happy. Ready for a new era. All along the sofa, I can feel my cousins bursting with dream clouds and, well, I can't blame them. I've got a few of them myself.

Because I'm a _legacy_. I've got One in the palm of my hand. So when Dad talks on, I'm thinking about my spot in the pilot's seat. I'm imaging myself in IR blue, strapped into the seat of my father's 'bird. I'm picturing myself flying high around the world, answering distress calls and facing Mother Nature head-on.

When Dad dismisses the meeting, I'm surprised it's so short. The Uncles go back to eating and reminiscing while the cousins pick up their controllers, continuing with whatever game they had paused on the holocomm.

I find my father.

"Hey there, Luce," he says. L-U-C-E. It's not _luck_ as in lucky, but rather _loose_ as in loose cannon, or so my father likes to tease. "You're not playing with the boys?"

"Just wanted to say hi to my _favorite_ father in the whole world," I told him, and I know he can see right through the act. That's kind of the joke. We're good at that, Dad and I. Joking without all the knock knocks or the crossing of the roads. "I don't think I've ever told you this before, but if you were my uncle, you'd totally be my favorite uncle."

"You're not piloting One," he says, and it's probably about the millionth time he's told me in my lifetime, so it sounds old and worn out.

"But _Dad_ -"

"When you can drive a car, you can fly a 'bird," he says. "That's the rule."

That's when I smile at him, and he looks a little terrified. "That's my _point_ , Dad. My sixteenth birthday's coming up in a couple of weeks. That's more than enough time for all the repairs to be made and then when it's done -"

"What are you talking about?" Dad says. "You're not sixteen. You're twelve."

See what I mean? Jokes.

I roll my eyes at him, but then I lean in real close, letting him know his secrets are safe with me. "Okay, but really," I say. "It's mine, right?"

And then Dad smiles, leans in closer, and says, "I don't know, Luce."

He takes off then, back to the table where all the grown-ups are sitting and I've got no choice but to go join the rest of the kids with the video games.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking into One's hangar is like watching a surgery. From the lobby that hangs overhead, I can see the whole operation through the floor-to-ceiling windows and it's... satisfying. Satisfying to watch. Satisfying to hear. Satisfying to feel.

Because I _can_ feel it. I can feel the currents of electricity and the pulsing of the machines. I can feel the energy as Brains and MAX work, the two of them more precise than even the world's finest surgeons. One's hangar isn't just a part of Tracy Island - it's an extension of me. It has to be. We share the same heart.

I was born in One. No, really. I was _literally_ born aboard Thunderbird One. According to the story, my mother had insisted on helping with a rescue. It was a rough storm - all hands on deck - and she refused to sit it out, even though she was nine months pregnant. Dad says he left her in the 'bird while he and Uncle Virge shifted through debris and by the time he came back, Mom was bouncing me in her arms, reporting back to Uncle John like nothing had happened. He says he didn't even know I was there at first. Not until I started to cry. Loudmouthed from the very beginning, he likes to say.

One is a part of my story. Hell, it's the _start_ of my story. I had known it sixteen years ago and I continue to know it now - I _belong_ in One. It's a part of me.

I am _going_ to pilot One.

"Don't get any ideas, Luce."

The voice makes me jump and I spin to see two boys - a mirror image of each other - both of them smiling that identical smile. " _Mierda! Qué estás-_ " I stop myself, suddenly aware of my language. "What are you doing? You scared me half to death."

The boys aren't thrown by my mother's tongue. They never are anymore. Isaac's just clipping his belt over his shoulder and Stephen's just strapping his gloves over his wrists. They've been called out an rescue, I realize, and I try my best not to look as jealous as I feel.

The pair of them look good in IR blue. They've got the brains of their dad, for sure, but they've also got the brawn of their pops, which is probably what makes them one of International Rescue's best assets. Clever and strong - the perfect combination.

"Just came up here to remind you," says Isaac. "We've got One locked down. As soon as Uncle Scotty's gone, she's all ours."

I roll my eyes. They've been stuck as the Pod Twins ever since they started going on rescues. They've been sharing a room for eighteen years. I'm pretty sure that the two of them share some sort of magnetic field, because I never see them apart. "You do know that there's only one pilot's seat, right?" I say.

But the two of them just grin, answers ready. "You heard your dad," says Stephen.

"Our dad's making _alterations_ to One," Isaac goes on.

And then I can't help it. I have to laugh. "I doubt those alterations include a second chair, you guys."

I almost expect them to join in on my laughter, but they're serious. To them, this isn't a joke, but rather the cold, hard truth. In a few weeks time, the two of them will be piloting the world's most famous 'bird. They're sure of it.

"Think about it, Luce," says Isaac. "What other alterations could he be making?"

"I mean, look at her" Stephen finishes, throwing his hand towards One's hangar. "She's perfect."

The words come out as nothing more than a sigh and if I didn't know better, I might think that they're talking about their average schoolyard crush. But I do know better. I know that, when it comes to those two, the only crush they have is on their 'birds.

"Boys," says the calm, low voice of Uncle Virge. He steps into the lobby and spots them. "Are you ready or not? There's a potential landslide with your name on it - oh. Hi Lucy."

When Uncle Virge catches sight of me, he stares. I watch carefully as he gives a quick glance over my shoulder, directly at One, and then looks back to me. "You should be studying," he says finally.

It takes every ounce of resistance within me to keep from letting out the longest, loudest groan I have. That sort of thing works with Uncle Alan - Uncle Gordon, too. Very, _very_ occasionally it will work with my father, but never with Uncle Virge. If a person wants him to treat them like an adult, they have to act like one. "I finished my lessons."

And that's when Uncle Virge gives me that flat, disbelieving look of his. It's a look I know well. "Great," he says, his voice dead. "So you can come on the rescue with us. I'll just ask your dad -"

" _Fine_ ," I say, making my way towards the door. I don't know how Uncle Virge always knows these things, but he's got this uncanny ability to detect mischief and deceit. I guess that's just the sort of thing you have to pick up when you're raising two boys. "I'll finish my lessons, but will you _please_ tell them that Brains isn't putting a second pilot's seat in One?"

Uncle Virge looks at his boys, eyebrows raised. "And where did you hear that?"

The boys shrug in unison. "Just a guess," Isaac says. "Why, has Dad told you anything?"

At this, Stephen's eyes light up. "Yeah, Pops. He _had_ to tell you something."

That's when I realize I'm holding my breath. I guess I'm waiting for Uncle Virge's answer, because if there _is_ another seat going in, then Dad's already made up his mind, and the twins get Thunderbird One for a very long time.

But Uncle Virge just shakes his head, and I can breathe again. "Dad doesn't know who's getting One," he says, almost like he's scolding. He turns, then, and locks his sights on me. "And that's because Scott doesn't know either."

His eyes stay there for a moment, and I know he gets it. Uncle Virge has been in Two for years. His 'bird is just as much his heart as One is mine. Maybe even more so. Uncle Virge gets it, which is why we don't have to say anything else. I just turn, leaving him, the twins, and my heart behind.


	3. Chapter 3

"Lucy," he calls. "Lucy-loo... Lu-lu Belle - I'm just going to keep saying all the names you hate until you come out."

But I'm not _going_ to come out. I'm not. Because I know what happens when I open that door. I know that there's going to be splashing and floating and I know that my hair is going to be wet _all day_ , no matter how many times I try to dry it.

On the other side of the door, Uncle Gordon sighs. "Come on, Luce. You've gotta train."

He's not going to go away. That much has been made clear, both in this moment and in many similar moments over the past ten years. So I don't wait for him to leave. Instead, I put on my best pouty lip and crack open the door.

Uncle Gordon is a total _sucker_ for the pouty lip.

"Can't I train _above_ ground?" I ask him, putting on the biggest set of brown eyes I can find.

I've almost got him. I can see it. He's looking at me like he does right before he takes us all out for ice-cream. He peaks through the crack in the door with sorry eyes and his eyebrows are starting to pinch together. I can tell that he's just about to cave and then I won't have to -

 _Whap!_

Dad's walking down the hallway now, coffee in hand, reading the news that scrolls through the air in front of him. He doesn't stop sipping his mug as he knocks Uncle Gordon over the head with his free hand.

And just like that, Uncle Gordon breaks free of my spell.

"No one in this house flies an 'bird until they know how to swim," Dad calls back, not breaking stride. "That's the rule."

By now, my pout's taken on a whole new meaning. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a lot of rules about the 'birds?" I bark.

Dad doesn't even look back as he starts his descent down the stairs. "Has anyone ever told you that the 'birds are a lot of responsibility?"

" _Yes_ ," I say. "You have. Like, a trillion times!"

"Then let's make this a trillion and one," he says. "Learn to swim, Lucy. Or else you can kiss One goodbye."

There it is. Dad knows how to play me, I'll give him that much.

He used to be more worried about it. He used to let me take days off from swimming and used to let me wear a lifejacket. He used to get in the pool with me and Uncle Gordon and he used to hold on to me the whole time. Dad used to be a lot more worried about my screams and my tears, but I guess after ten years, that worry started to wear off.

Because Dad doesn't hold on to me anymore, and he still expects me to get in the water.

But I've got to pilot One. The boys will never let me hear the end of it if I let a little water stand in my way, so what other choice do I have? I straighten my shoulders back, pull the door open, and I look my uncle right in the eye when I say, "Let's get this over with."

Uncle Gordon's got this smirk - he's got a lot of them, actually - but there's a specific one that I only see on occasion. It's small and if I'm not looking for it, I miss it, but it's there right now. He's looking down at me with that smirk that's... not _quite_ victory, and not just plain happiness either. Pride, maybe? I don't know.

All I know is that whatever he sees in me, it makes him check over his shoulder for Dad. It makes him lean in close and it makes him whisper the words, "We'll make it an easy day, today."

And then I smile, because Uncle Gordon always knows when I need an easy day.


	4. Chapter 4

There's only one rule up here: don't fall.

It's the easiest place to disappear to. The tippy top of Tracy Island - right where everything starts to slope and the rock starts to chip away into nothingness. Grass doesn't grow up here. It's all just moss and stone. I have to watch my step or else I could start tumbling straight off the cliffs.

If Dad knew I was up here again, he'd kill me.

When I sit on the ledge, I let my feet hang. I feel so small - like I'm five years old again and my feet don't quite touch the ground, no matter what chair I sit on. My feet have a lot farther to go this time around, dangling above a three-hundred meter fall into jagged waters. Even from here and even in the dark, I can see the whitewater caps lapping over the rocks and against the cliffs, threatening to wash it all away. It can, I remember. Water is a force of nature. It destroys and it kills just as often as it brings life. It breaks and it boils, if only given the time to do so.

And it absolutely _destroys_ hair.

I don't even really try anymore. When I brush the chlorine out of it, I grab hold of a chunk and start ripping. The sound of it makes me cringe, because I know what my mother would say. Take care of your hair, _mi amor_. Love it. Cherish it.

I tear through the ends, and the curls twist and stick against my palm, looking like ink in the moonlight. Mom's not here. I can do whatever I want with my hair.

When I hear the unsteady steps behind me, I don't even have to look. I know who it is. He always knows when I'm up here. Dimitri and I aren't blood, but sometimes it feels like he's the only one of my cousins who knows all my tricks.

Uncertain, he makes his way to the ledge and sits down. " _¿Estás bien?_ "

He can speak five languages, including my father's English and my mother's Spanish, but Russian is his native tongue, so everything he says is thick and has a scoff in it. It's sort of poetic, really, for a boy who speaks so little to have access to so many words.

" _Sí_ ," I tell him. "Pool day."

This, it would seem, makes it all click in to place. He gives me a slow, steady nod that takes up his whole body.

"Dad threatened to take One away if I didn't practice," I go on.

"So he's handing her over to you, then?" he asks, and it's probably the longest string of words I've heard him say in years.

I shake my head. "No," I say, and I try not to notice the way his shoulders fall. Like he's relieved. "Why? Are you gunning for the pilot's seat, too?"

He shrugs.

"Everyone else is, Dimitri. You might as well admit it and join the ranks."

"Five's good," he says, and I know he means it. He loves it up there with Uncle John and EOS. He gets to study and learn and watch the starts and he _loves_ it. Still, there's something about him. Something that's not quite confident. "But One... that's good, too."

He means that, too. He loves Five. He loves being with Uncle John. But One is a whole new adventure, and Dimitri really, _really_ loves new adventures.

So I add him to the list. He might not seem like much, but he's a solid competitor. There's far more to Dimitri than what meets the eye. After all, he didn't become one of the only non-Tracys with a key to a 'bird by sitting around on his ass all day. His achievements in astrophysics _alone_ were enough to get Uncle John's attention and the two have been stuck together ever since their very first meeting.

One look at Dimitri is all it takes for someone to mistake him for being passive. For someone to think that he doesn't fight or doesn't compete. Well, that's just not true. The truth is, Dimitri is one of the most competitive people I know, but he fights in the same way he does everything else - quietly.

He's a solid threat. I can't deny it, but then, all at once, it doesn't matter, because Dimitri's already made up his mind. "She's your 'bird," he says. "You want her - she's yours." He pulls his legs in close, not quite as willing to let them hang as I am. He looks up at the stars with something that's almost a smile. "Five's good."

"Now, hold on," says a voice that isn't Dimitri, and I can hear Jeff shuffling his way across the slippery slope. "I think it's only fair that the oldest at least gets a _shot_ at One."

A blanket falls over my shoulders - the thin scratchy thing from the back of the couch. It doesn't provide much warmth, but it doesn't have to. The night is warm and summer's coming. The blanket just needs to stop the salty breeze from biting.

Jeff finds a spot on my other side and he looks right at home on top of the cliffs. He's got a healthy awareness of the dangers in the world, but it doesn't always stop him from partaking in those dangers. "After all," he continues. "I _have_ been waiting the longest for it."

"Really?" I say. "That's your big argument? You're the oldest?"

Jeff grins. "I think you'll find that argument to be quite common among us oldest children."

"You can't just use that every time you want something."

"Why not?" he says. "You play the youngest-kid card every time you're in trouble. I get to play my hand every once in a while too and if Dimitri doesn't want it -"

"No," Dimitri says. He's smiling, so I know he's teasing, but there's something undeniably honest about what he says next. " _You_ , I'll fight."

Jeff laughs and the sound bounces off the sea. He's got to be careful, or else Dad will hear him and all three of us will be busted. That's the real adrenaline rush that comes from sitting up here. Not the fall or the water or the moss that seems to want to throw us from the cliff. The real rush is avoiding the wrath of Scott Tracy.

"See what I mean?" Jeff says to me. "No one wants to fight the youngest - it's like this really annoying superpower you have."

"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "Dad's not giving me One."

"Why? Did he say something?" he asks and both boys look at me with mounting excitement, Jeff far less casually than Dimitri.

"No," I tell them, and they deflate. "But I've just got this feeling. I don't think he's ever going to let me fly a 'bird."

"Have you talked to him?" asks Jeff.

"What? No. Why would I do that?"

Jeff just sighs as if his four additional years on this planet have made him so wise - so knowledgable. I roll my eyes at him, but he doesn't see. "Uncle Scott likes it when people talk to him about this stuff. He's a straight-forward dude."

"I'm his daughter. The only thing he talks to me about is cartoons."

"Not when it comes to International Rescue," says Jeff, turning to look at me. His condescension is gone and, for a second, I catch myself thinking that maybe Jeff really is as smart as he thinks he is. "When it comes to the 'birds, you're his teammate. That's the way it's always been."

"Talk to him," Dimitri agrees from my other side.

I look back down to my hanging feet. The water's even rougher now than it was before and I know that it's a long way down. Jeff's right, I tell myself. I've got to talk to Dad. I've got to make that jump.

I just hope that he doesn't let me fall.


	5. Chapter 5

Knocking on the door to Dad's office can be... stressful. When he's off the clock, he's great, but when Dad's got budget reports and rescue stats in his hand, it's a whole new ball game. He lets out something of a grunt that vaguely resembles an unenthusiastic, "Come in," and so I open the cracked door until I can squeeze through.

When Dad sees it's me, the reports are down and the glasses are off. He's looking at me like he looks at Thunderbird One and I can't help but feel a _little_ bit guilty about what I'm going to do next.

Because the boys said I should talk to my father. And I respect them. The twins are... less perceptive, but Jeff and Dimitri know how to play the game. So I'm here to talk to my father.

And I'm also here to play the game.

"What's wrong?"

Dad always knows when there's something wrong. I think it's because he's a people-person. Or maybe he's just a Lucy-person. Either way, he's good at spotting a troubled thought or two. "I was just thinking," I say. "About One."

"You and me both, kid," he says. "What's got you going?"

I don't know why, but when he says this, my heart skips a beat. I had known my father was thinking about One. It's not a decision he's bound to take lightly. Still, hearing him say the words out loud, I can't help but wonder where I fall on his list. "I've just been thinking..." I say. "Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to let one of the boys take her."

He squints. Stares. Studies me for a solid five seconds.

And then he stands, his knees creaking more than his chair. His lips are in a hard line and he hasn't stopped peering at me through those suspicious eyes. When he reaches me, he feels my forehead. My cheeks. "You feeling okay?"

"Dad, I'm _fine_."

He doesn't believe me and keeps checking my temperature until I push his hand away. Except those eyes still stare at me and he's crossing his arms now, so I know he's still trying to figure me out. Dad's always trying to figure me out. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" he says.

"Dad."

"I mean it," he says, but he doesn't. "If I find out that she's got a twin out there somewhere and you two are switching places -"

"Dad, I'm serious."

He starts to laugh, but then he stops himself and puts on his _super serious_ face. He only makes that face when he thinks I'm being grumpy. "What is it, Luce?" he asks.

I take a deep breath in. Let it go. "I've been thinking," I say, and that much, at least, is the truth. "You and I - we're a lot alike, Dad. We both want what's best for International Rescue."

Now he's dropping the playfulness and he's really listening. International Rescue is everything that makes Scott Tracy feel alive and he'll be damned if he lets silliness get in the way of it. "Go on."

"I've just been thinking that maybe the boys are right," I say. This, I know, is where the truth ends, but Dad seems relatively convinced for the time being. "Maybe someone older and more mature _should_ pilot One. You know. Because she's so crucial to the rescues."

Dad's nodding, but I can't tell if he's buying it. I think he is, because his eyes are all big and sad and serious, so I go on. "I mean, I'm hardlyup for the task, right? Everyone knows it's just a _myth_ that girls mature faster than boys - maybe it should just go to Jeff. I mean, _sure_ , he's always had a lot of Uncle Alan in him, but I'm sure he'd step up to the responsibility."

I glance up at him. No reply. He's either listening or he's suspicious, but he doesn't dismiss me, so I keep talking. "Or maybe the twins," I offer. "Of course, then International Rescue would be down a man, because everyone knows that One only really needs a singlepilot and you just _know_ they're not going alone, but hey. I'm sure we could make it work."

He shifts his weight this time, but still he's giving me nothing. "Dimitri says he'll take it," I say with false realization. I follow it with equally fake disappointment. "But, then again. He's _really_ happy up on Five with Uncle John. Still, I'm sure he'd love it - anyways. I'm sure you'll figure something out, Dad. You're a pretty smart guy."

With this, he smirks. I still can't tell if my plan is victorious or if I've crashed and burned. He's just watching me like he knows everything, so I'm sure I'm busted. At least, until he says, "You know what, Luce? Maybe you're right."

I'm so thrown for a loop that I don't even know how to make words come out of my mouth. "I'm... I'm _what_?"

He nods, and for a moment he looks genuinely impressed. "Yeah," he says. "Jeff has always been a little young for his age. And what would we do without Isacc and Stephen in the pods?"

And then it's my turn to smile, because I've got him right where I want him. " _Well,_ " I say. "I'm sure we could work something out."

"No, no," Dad says. "I think you're right. I think we need someone more mature to pilot One. Someone who will respect her and look after her."

At this point, I practically oozing with excitement. "I mean, if _you_ think so -"

"Your Uncle Alan would be _perfect_ for the job. He'll have to give you a nice big thank-you hug the next time he sees you."

Backfire. Verb. A mistimed explosion within an engine or exhaust. That's what it feels like in my chest right now - something bursting in my heart as I realize just how much of a mistake I've made, but it's too late to go back, so I've got to go forward. I've got to get myself out of this hole. "Yeah," I say, trying to come up with something - anything - that gets this conversation back to where I want it to be. "Or, you know, maybe Aunt Kay? I've always thought that it was time for a _girl_ pilot to -"

"Cut the act, Luce."

"Yeah, okay."

Busted. This whole time I thought I was playing Dad. Turns out he was playing me.

He smiles. "You're too much like your Uncle Gordon," he says.

"What gave me away?" I ask him.

He bats his eyelashes and brings his voice up to something that's supposed to sound like me, but totally doesn't. "You're so _smart_ , Dad."

"Really?" I ask. "I made it that far?"

He just shrugs, turning towards his desk and sitting in his chair once more. "Your case was compelling - and plus, I really wanted to see what excuses you had lined up." He leans back like he's getting ready for a long night and then the smile's gone. "I haven't decided who gets One, but pulling crap like this? That's not the way to convince me you're _mature_ enough to handle the responsibility."

"But _Dad_ -"

"Whining doesn't do the trick either."

"Okay," I say. "But you've got to admit that my arguments are solid. I mean, they're really -"

"Scott."

The voice is neither mine nor my dad's, and I realize that we're not alone. It's Uncle Alan, Jeff right behind him like the little blonde shadow he is. "John's calling," he tells us. "You'd better get out here. There's a storm coming. It's... it's bad."


End file.
